Remembering

From the back of the van
through the wild giggles,
squabbling and screeching
I hear:

“Know what’s most important, Mom?
You guys. You and Dad.
I mean, I love my stuffed animals
and all, but you guys are the most important.”

The house is quiet now,
and this memory floats to the top of my mind
having simmered all day
in a cool June summertime way
with outside haircuts and outside play.

It’s ready to bite into.
It’s ready to be remembered,
to make a difference tomorrow
when the sauce isn’t so sweet.

God knows, God loves

The middle one listens
to her dad and me schedule the days
and work through conflicts and make offers
to help one another.

She interjects during the hurried morning
going-out-the-door discussion:
“Well, I could skip vacation bible school…”

When we disuade that generosity, she replies:
“But I already know everything about Jesus;”
and I recall last evening’s theme:
God knows you by name,
and Jesus loves you.
I ask her if this is correct:
“Yep.”

Then she bites into her cinnamon toast,
pulls her royal purple, fuzzy blanket around
bare “night-gown” shoulders
and settles in to breakfast.